Page 85 of Bridesmaid Undercover
She winces. “I really hope not.” She recalls her conversation, her lip worrying to the side. “Did I?”
I chuckle. “How the fuck should I know, I’ve been on lonely island with Maple talking about the inventor of bowling and my terrible chocolate lava cake recipe.” I lean in close and whisper, “Spoiler, I’ve never made one in my life.”
“Then why the hell are you talking about it?” she asks.
“Hell if I know, Plum! Things are going sour over there. Like, the ship is sinking and there are no life vests in sight. It’s really uncomfortable.”
“For heaven’s sake, you dated for years. You can’t tell me there’s nothing to talk about. Maybe an old memory. Like…oh hey, Maple, remember the time I got my hand stuck in the cookie jar?”
“What am I? Twelve?”
“I don’t know, Henrietta. You tell me. You’re the one bowling with a current score of fifty.”
My eyes narrow, and a small smile appears at her lips.
“Uh, can we move this along,” Timothy shouts.
Everly picks up the pink ball and hands it to me. “Trust me, this is the cure to your gutter ball streak. Try it.”
“It feels like a feather,” I say.
“Which is great for the gentle wrist.” She winks and takes a step back, leaning against the wall and shooing me forward with her gesturing hand.
Rolling my eyes, I don’t bother to argue with her as I take the pink ball and stick my fingers in the tiny holes. Feeling like an absolute fool, I get into position, visualize the pins in front of me, and then take three steps forward as I bring the ball behind me. And all together, I swing my arm forward and shoot the ball toward the pins.
Right toward the…
Nope.
My fingers get stuck in the holes of the ball and instead of sending the ball down the oiled-up alley, I shoot it up into the air…straight into the low ceiling above me.
“Oh fuck,” I cry right before plaster rains all over our lane.
Everly covers her head.
I skitter back in fear.
And what feels like the entire bowling alley turns our way as the ball falls out of the ceiling and to my luck…straight into the gutter.
Silence falls over our group as we pathetically watch the pink ball, very slowly, and very dramatically, make its way down the gutter toward the pins.
Plaster in my hair, my nostrils flared, I turn toward Everly who has both hands over her mouth, eyes wide, mirth in her expression.
“Are you happy?” I ask her, arms wide.
Her shoulders shake.
A chuckle falls out of her mouth, and then she crumples to the floor in a fit of laughter.
Yup…she’s happy.
To:Everly Plum
From: Hardy Hopper
Subject: $157.89
Professor,
